crane wife 4

and over the wooden loom
his eyes in the tiny room
the illness of my labor!
poured over the wooden loom

each feather, it fell from skin
'till threadbare, and i grew thin
how could someone not notice?
each feather, it fell from skin

and i will spread my wings, spread my wings wide
and i will spread my wings, spread my wings wide

flecks of blood in the weaving
wide window, a fluttering
for i'd been sick for so long!
flecks of blood in the weaving

and i will spread my wings, spread my wings wide
and i will spread my wings, spread my wings wide

(after the Decemberists, crane wife 3: same tune, which you can hear here.)